


Lucky

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening at a charity gala makes Brienne reflect on her relationship with Jaime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

Brienne is lucky.

She must be, she hears it so often. Usually from strangers she’d give anything to escape, when they find out she is Jaime Lannister’s wife. 

That is not all she is, but it’s all that counts here as she makes her way across a ballroom crowded with wealthy people sure of their own importance. They are dripping with jewels, swathed in designer clothing that costs more than many families' monthly rent. 

Brienne looks at the exotic flowers, the endless trays of food and bottles of liquor, and wonders how much more money would go to the women’s shelter supported this evening if the elite of King’s Landing would simply write a check instead of insisting on seeing and being seen at this benefit.

While she waits for a drink at the bar, another guest asks Brienne what she does. Brienne is the assistant director of the community center in Flea Bottom. She often sees women like this one, young society wives who drop by the community center a few times a year so they can say they give their time as well as their money to the less fortunate. When Margaery Tyrell-Baratheon shows up at the center, reporters often follow her. Brienne only tolerates it because her boss says donations rise every time the center is mentioned in a positive news story. 

Unlike Margaery and the others, Brienne is in Flea Bottom every weekday, sometimes late into the night, and often on weekends too. Between the daycare center, the recreation center, and the clinic, there's always something that needs her attention. She has worked there for eight years, long before she met Jaime.

The poster boy for the idle rich, Jaime spent decades squandering the opportunities he was handed on a gold platter. When Brienne went hat in hand to ask the Lannister Foundation for funding, Jaime was insulting and dismissive but gave her the money anyway. She expected him to cut a check and show up for the ribbon-cutting, but Jaime was involved every step of the way in building the clinic that bears his mother’s name. Half the time they spent together, Brienne wanted to throttle him. The other half she wanted to kiss Jaime senseless, and eventually that half won out. 

Brienne is grateful that her husband understands both her long hours and her reticence at lavish fundraisers. Jaime asks that she attend these events only a few times a year. He hates them nearly as much as she does, but these evenings ( _show up, be seen, play your part_ ) are the trade-off for months free of Tywin Lannister. 

Across the ballroom, Jaime catches her eye, winking at her as he feigns interest in the chatter of the sequined and bejeweled matrons surrounding him. Brienne will rescue him after she’s eaten a few more appetizers. She skipped lunch and even the few sips of champagne she’s taken are making her head swim. 

When Brienne reaches him, she already knows exactly what will happen. In these moments Jaime is predictable, as long as she catches him before Tyrion puts one too many drinks in his hand. 

Jaime drapes an arm around her waist, planting a chaste kiss on his wife’s cheek. He jokes about needing to get home and make sure Pod hasn’t thrown a party in their absence, brushes off the matrons’ surprise and admiration for their sacrifice in adopting a teenage boy. 

As they wait outside for the valet to bring the car around, Jaime draws her into a less innocent kiss, one hand roaming over her back. He tastes of whiskey and bitters. Brienne won’t keep either in their home, so strongly do they remind her of nights like this one. 

Jaime may seem at ease to others, perhaps a little drunk as he pushes the bounds of propriety with his awkward, mannish wife in the well-lit forecourt of the most expensive hotel in King’s Landing. Brienne knows him too well to believe that. She can feel the tension in his shoulders, sees how fast that practiced smile drops from his face. 

He loathes these evenings just as much as she does, hates hearing his father talk about them as if their work is a reflection on him, another accomplishment he can claim. His eldest son, the golden boy, running the family's charitable ventures, and his daughter-in-law, so devoted to the poor. The same man who reacted to their engagement by sending her a prenuptial agreement. The same man who tried to talk Jaime out of adopting Pod. 

When they arrive home, Jaime embraces her hungrily, lips and teeth nipping at the side of her throat, the curve of her shoulder. They are still in the foyer when he unzips Brienne’s dress, laughs when she protests that Pod will see them. The boy is spending the night with a friend, Jaime whispers. Of course he is. Brienne should have thought of that. Jaime’s need for touch, for intimacy, is nothing new, and it’s easy to give him. They get no farther than the couch before Jaime is between her thighs. 

Later, in bed, the evening’s tension gone along with their clothes, Brienne rests her head on his chest, and Jaime talks. Memories of his childhood mostly. Cersei wearing her princess costume and crown for days on end, insisting that Jaime rescue her from dragons and cave lions. Tyrion helping himself to food meant for an important party, eating thousands of dragons of caviar before a cook caught him. Jaime climbing the cliffs at Casterly Rock, defiant despite the danger, until his brother begged him to stop. 

He starts to yawn, stumbling over his words, his voice falling to a sleepy mumble. Brienne shifts, cradles Jaime against her, strokes his silky hair until he stops talking, his slow, even breathing warm against her throat. 

Brienne isn’t lucky. They both are.


End file.
